Thinking on these things . . .

I'm singing in a Christmas concert today. That's not amazing news this time of year but it's given me pause and such a heart of gratitude. I had attended a couple nights ago and the music and lyrics are so worshipful I wanted to be able to join my voice with the forty others who are glorifying God through this. I asked if I could hop in this afternoon and was told "yes"; a step of faith on my colleague's part as he's unaware of my background. But I am not; and as I, with the benefit of Youtube, sing through my book I am overcome by all the ways God has prepared me for this. Years and years of choirs, some lessons, amazing choral colleagues in year's previous who have supported and stretched me vocally and one director in particular, Dr. Dwight Gustafson of the University Chorale, to whom I'll be forever grateful for his instruction both vocally and how to praise God with our voices.  I think about all the notes and all the opportunities...

As I didn’t have a camera, let me write you a picture As I walked through an early morning of late November, the white ceramic mug of coffee cradled was cooling quickly; frosty puffs of breath preceding me. Every blade of grass was distinctly encased in its own coat of frost.  Before me lay a panorama of Geneva Lake, the pink hue of sunrise still lingering in the sky diffused by the steam rising out of warm waters into the frigid air.  The dog ran leaving no footprints across the frozen beach and the reflective glass of the water was filled with cliques of geese; squawking, diving, preening, making trails as they glided across the lake. They were incongruous against the backdrop of the lone white boat pier, all the slips long emptied, boards encrusted in a layer of icy snow.  I stood on the diving board in my winter coat and looked trepidatiously at the green clear  water below me.   It was definitely no longer summer. And the lyric came to ...

It was o'dark thirty and I was shuffling down the hall with a severe case of "I can't believe the alarm went off already... do I really need to get up... I am so tired…" brain fog.   As I stumbled along I was tying on my robe. The plush fabric brushed against my skin and again, for the umpteenth time, I was amazed at its softness. The robe had been a spur-of-the-moment impulse buy after I'd run my hand over the open sample spot to feel the texture. I had no idea what I was in for. It's long and thick and unbelievably soft.  It is amazing, and I've come to that conclusion numerous times. All the prior experience and expectation do not prepare me for the sensation each time I am wrapped in it.  It is always greater than I imagine.  I find this true of the love of Jesus. No matter what I read about Jesus’ love, or hear it expressed musically, or remember it from my own history - however spectacular - it does not compare to the experience ...